Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                    • The second game lasted longer. They both kept on showing the same symbol, which meant a replay. It was as if the two players were getting the measure of each other's psychology. But that could not be so, since Bond had no psychological intent. He continued to play at random. It was just luck. Tiger won the game. One all.
                                      And then, twenty yards away, the flying engine thundered into the curve and took the siding with a lurch that sent logs hurtling towards Bond off the top of the tender.

                                                                      • I extolled Traddles in reply, as highly as I could; for I felt that Steerforth rather slighted him. Steerforth, dismissing the subject with a light nod, and a smile, and the remark that he would be glad to see the old fellow too, for he had always been an odd fish, inquired if I could give him anything to eat? During most of this short dialogue, when he had not been speaking in a wild vivacious manner, he had sat idly beating on the lump of coal with the poker. I observed that he did the same thing while I was getting out the remains of the pigeon-pie, and so forth.
                                                                        Mr. Snowman laughed. "You might still find that operating in the Shires or in Ireland, but it hasn't been the fashion at London sale rooms since I've been attending them."
                                                                        Miss Tucker might well have said 鈥榲ery鈥 instead of 鈥榓lmost鈥 sad. Certain words in a letter of Mrs. Baring鈥檚 to Mrs. Hamilton, soon after, are something of an echo to the above:鈥擖br> 'You mean at night?' The big blue eyes were wide with fright, excitement, maidenly appraisal.
                                                                        The whine changed to a shattering roar. The wind-screen of the Lancia disappeared as if hit by a monster fist. Bond caught a glimpse of a taut, snarling mouth under a syphilitic nose, the flash-eliminator of some automatic gun being withdrawn, and then the red car was past and the Lancia was going like hell off the verge across a stretch of snow and smashing a path through a young copse. Then Bond's head crashed into the wind-screen frame and he was out.


                                                                        The big man stood for a moment and looked up at the deep blue sky. His fingers opened in a spasm and let go the knife. His pierced heart stuttered and limped and stopped. He crashed flat back and lay, his arms flung wide, as if someone had thrown him away.

                                                                          Even by sun-crazed-prospector standards, the Creature was seriously shabby. He only had on somedirt-colored chabochi shorts, a pair of sandals, and an old baseball cap. That was it. No backpack,no shirt, and apparently no food, because as soon as he reached ángel, he asked in awkwardSpanish for agua and made shoveling gestures toward his mouth—maybe he could have somethingto eat?
                                                                        "You'll see," said the driver, a bony man with a cruel mouth and sideburns. He swung the car out on to the road and accelerated back towards the town, and they were soon in amongst the jungle of neon and then through it and going fast down a two-lane highway that ribboned away across the moonlit desert towards the mountains.

                                                                                                        • 'I couldn't agree more.' Bond was effusive. He got to his feet and gathered up his papers from the desk. 'And now I must get on with my own research work. Just getting into the fourteenth century. I think I shall have some interesting data to show you tomorrow, Count.'

                                                                                                                                          • Chapter 16

                                                                                                                                                                            • The lift sighed to a stop. Bond had no idea how far down they had gone-a hundred feet, two hundred? The automatic doors hissed back and Bond and the girl stepped out into a large room.

                                                                                                                                                                                                              • And now, up the road from Samaden that Bond knew so well, came the iron hee-haw warning of the local fire-engine. The blinking red light on its cabin roof was perhaps a mile away. Bond, carefully approaching the corner of the darkened cable station, prepared his story. He crept up to the wall of the building and looked round. Nobody! No trace except fresh tyre-marks outside the entrance door. Blofeld must have telephoned his man down here before he started and used him and his car for the getaway. Which way had he gone? Bond walked out on to the road. The tracks turned left. Blofeld would be at the Bernina Pass or over it by now, on his way down into Italy and away. It might still have been possible to have him held at the frontier by alerting the fire-brigade, whose lights now held Bond in their beam. No! That would be idiotic. How had Bond got this knowledge unless he himself had been up at Piz Gloria that night? No, he must just play the part of the stupidest tourist in the Engadine!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                • They say "YES!"Your body doesn't know how to lie. Unconsciously,with no directions from you, it transmits yourthoughts and feelings in a language of its own tothe bodies of other people, and these bodiesunderstand the language perfectly. Any contradictionsin the language can interrupt the developmentof rapport.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • Beyond this point I see nothing. The life of those future men is wholly beyond my range. I emerged from my vision in weariness but also in peace and joy, for it seemed that those new men, though I could not keep pace with the movement of their minds, were loyal to the light and well equipped to serve it, loyal to that same light which my own generation so vaguely sees and falteringly serves.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    • 'That will not be possible, my daughter. In due course he will recover and go off across the world to where he came from. And there will be official inquiries for him, from Fukuoka, perhaps even from Tokyo, for he is surely a man of renown in his own country.'